


Corkboard Memories

by DraconicBlossom



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, Black Mage Warrior of Light, Emotional support Ardbert, Hurt/Comfort, Implied G'raha/WoL, Implied intimate relationship, M/M, Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Male miqo'te warrior of light - Freeform, Minor Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconicBlossom/pseuds/DraconicBlossom
Summary: “You still love him, don’t you?” The words sat like lead in his chest. Did he? It had been five years, and he hadn’t even gotten to speak the words to the historian. By all accounts, he should have moved on – sure, he’d had his flings, and intimacy with others, but it had never been the same. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, before facing Ardbert, eyes aflame with seriousness.“Yes, I do. I love him, dearly.”--Deciphering the Exarch's true identity is no easy task, but Cy'rill will be damned if he gives in to the challenge. However, a quick trip down memory lane with Ardbert reminds him of the very man who sealed himself away - G'raha Tia.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Corkboard Memories

It had been troubling him, the moment he’d met the mysterious figure – Just who was the Crystal Exarch? It hadn’t been his priority at first, but, recently, as time progressed, it had continued to press at him, distracting him from every meeting he attended, inside the Ocular. Instead of focusing on what the Crystarium’s caretaker was saying, he was trying to peer under the cowl, or trying to visualise what was underneath the cloth.

Cy’rill laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed. He was still fully clothed, having just come in from a harsh day – being the ‘Warrior of Darkness’ really did require such physical and mental effort, more than the Black Mage was accustomed to. As he’d laid down to relax, the question of the Exarch’s identity rammed into him, and continued to trouble him. His long, black tail flicked with irritation, as if trying to bat the curiosity away, with no success.

Of course, suspicion was only natural – He was being faced with a man, whom he did not know the identity of. Whilst it did not bring discomfort to the Keeper, he was beyond curious. Every time he went to bend, to see beneath the cowl, the Exarch would turn away, or have some excuse to leave; the pure determination the other man had in shielding his true self was astounding. Why was he so desperate? It seemed deeper than simply self-consciousness – after all, none of the citizens of the Crystarium had seen his face, either.

Thus, there he was, in his room, within the Pendants, granting the ceiling the biggest death-glare he could muster. Restlessness filled him – he couldn’t just sit, idly, and let his thoughts consume him. No, this needed to be written down, so his deductions were far more collected, and concise. Recently, he’d asked the Exarch for a corkboard, just in case he needed to finalise any battle plans, or if he needed to remember something. His eyes shifted their gaze to it, abandoned near the steps to his bed. Well, now was better than never, he supposed. Sitting up and grabbing his journal from the nightstand, he went to work.

Hours, it had taken, but he was feeling far less muddled, at least. He shifted, fingers laced around a small pin, his other hand cradling a drawing of Alphinaud, his dear companion and fellow Scion. Carefully, to avoid jabbing his own digit, he pinned the art to the corkboard before him, tail swaying freely from his clothing, curiosity clear in the twitch of his ears. He leant over, gripping the red string that dangled from another pin – one that connected to the Exarch – and joined the two images, stepping back with a frown.

The board was a complete mess. Crimson, fraying twine painted the blank brown, joining several depictions of the Scions, some Ascians, and even some members of the Crystarium, Lyna included. Hand-written notes were strewn across the links, several question marks penned into the pieces of parchment. What was the association here?

He withdrew, beginning to pace. Cy’rill was aware that his point of focus should have been the next Lightwarden, but he just couldn’t settle. No, his mind was racing with possibilities, so close to the answer, yet it continued to evade him, just out of reach of his fingertips. A part of him felt incredibly frustrated, but another enjoyed the challenge – the Exarch’s identity could not be hidden forever, no matter how hard the other man would try. Even then, he had to deduce a reason for it. If he could discover the who, or the why, the other would be answered in turn. He was just so, _so_ close-

“What on Hydaelyn is _that_?”

His head snapped to the direction of the voice, ears perking up at the words, having not expected them. Cy’rill’s ruby eyes met with the familiar face of Ardbert, who was staring at his work, completely confused. The Keeper let out a huff of laughter.

“A theory.”

“On… the Exarch?” The hyur stepped closer, eyes narrowing as they glanced over the notes, trying to understand them. The raven observed him, awaiting a response. When he received none, he let out a polite cough.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s like reading the notes of a madman, if I’m honest.”

“Thanks for that.” The other man turned, opening his mouth to apologise, but the teasing smile on the miqo’te’s face quietened him. He let out a snort, shaking his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that I don’t quite understand them.”

“Then, allow me to explain.” Cy’rill practically purred, a grin crossing his pale lips. His hand connected to the board with a bang, the wooden sides wobbling with the impact, so much so that the hyur flinched. “You see, I have been trying to decipher the Exarch’s identity, ever since I arrived… But, I didn’t have a clue where to start. I had no information, other than what I could already see – He’s smaller than most, somewhat pale, has crystal on his body, and sounds like a historian.”

“Those are… oddly specific details about someone, but continue.”

“Right. Here’s the thing – I would have passed it off as him just being some stranger. However, I felt a connection with him, as if we’d already met, but I’d certainly remember someone like the Exarch, hood or not.”

“I mean, he is a rather unforgettable figure.”

“Exactly!” He slammed the board again, excitement clear in his perked ears, and lashing tail. “I would remember someone like that, but I don’t, so why do I feel a connection? So, I began to theorise. Who is the Exarch? Honestly, I was drawing blanks, until-“ He moved his hand, slapping a crude drawing of, what appeared to be, Emet-Selch. “-Emet over here brings up the idea that the First is a shard of the Source – you know, a reflection.”

“If that even is true.” Ardbert added, folding his arms over his chest. “Remember – Ascian might as well be a synonym for ‘lying bastards’.”

“I get that, but he wasn't the only person to mention it - The Exarch has told me as such.” The raven posed, his hands shaking with adrenaline. The other warrior could see that the miqo’te was getting too worked up, and placed a hand out, to indicate that he needed to calm down; it wasn’t as if he could actually touch Cy’rill.

“Listen, I see that you’re onto something here, but I think you’re starting to overthink. You need a re-“

“No, but, listen! If that is the case, and these shards are reflections of the Source, what’s to say that there aren’t reflections of the _people_ , too?” the hyur moved to stop him again, but the question caught him off-guard. His eyes cast down with a slight glare, as he considered the possibility.

“If that is right, then it’s plausible..” He mused, before looking back at the miqo’te. “So, you’re suggesting that the Exarch might be… a reflection?”

“Precisely!”

“But… who? I can think of none of your companions, who fit his description, or share similarities. On top of that, we know very little about how these ‘reflections’ might work.” Cy’rill’s excitement waned slightly, at the other man’s words. Returning to face his messy work, he realised that he did, in fact, know very little about the subject he was broaching, but he wasn’t about to beg Selch for answers – he’d rather eat his own staff.

His eyes examined the images that he’d placed on the board, ranging from the twins, to civilians of the Source. His attention was drawn to a quick sketch of one, rambunctious, red-haired miqo’te. He remembered sketching the doodle in his journal, back when he was investigating the Crystal Tower, the edges of the cut parchment tattered. It really had been some years, hadn’t it? He wondered just how much he’d changed, aside from the facial hair on his chin.

Cy’rill’s gaze met the heterochromia the other man possessed, and his heart fluttered. Yes, he remembered G’raha Tia well. Despite the memories being so far away in reality, they felt merely minutes ago – being taunted on his journey for aethersand, meeting up with Rambroes and Cid; how the redhead had jumped down, oh so dramatically, to introduce himself… His first opinion of G’raha had been suspicion, and a little annoyance, but it had quickly dissolved, just hearing the older man speak of his love for Allagan history; who was he to deny someone’s passions? They’d spoken, more than anyone else at the campsite, chatting on whatever crossed their minds – in the end, the raven was certain that he’d developed a crush. Then, watching the miqo’te seal himself away… He held back a choke. In less than an hour, he’d had his feeling ripped from him.

“Cy’rill?” He snapped out of his memories, breathing a little sharper than he intended. Even though he was facing away, Ardbert could sense a torment, brewing inside of the raven. He heard the other man swallow, as his own eyes moved away from the image of his previous companion.

“Sorry, lost in thought.” He let out a saddened laugh, trying to shake off the shackles of his negativity. It had been five years, why wasn’t he over it? Ardbert frowned, taking a step closer to Cy’rill.

“You need a break.” He huffed, shaking his head. “You’re overworking yourself, clearly.”

“I’m fine-“

“You’re not. I know a tired man when I see one. I know you want to solve the mystery, but… Your health is more important.” He knew that if his ghostly companion could put his hand on his shoulder, he would have. Letting out a long sigh, his gaze shifted to said man, red orbs awash with shimmering tears. It still hurt.

“I know…”

“Cy’rill… This is a distraction for you, isn’t it?” It was the miqo’te’s turn to swallow thickly, his throat drying at the question. Was that all this was? A way to not think about losing those he cared for most? It certainly explained why the Scions disappearing from their bodies hurt in such a raw, primal sense, as if he’d been gutted. Yes, they were his friends, and he worried about them, but it was something deeper, like a knife, twisting in an already open wound. Was it… leaving G’raha behind? Was that why, every single time anyone left, it caused such a deep, visceral agony? Without thinking, he nodded, eyes cast down.

“I think you might be right… Gods, what am I doing?” Ardbert’s expression softened.

“I don’t know what you lost, but it’s clearly affected you. I understand that well.” His tone was gentler than usual, a coaxing kind of comfort. If they could have contact, Cy’rill would have fallen into it.

“I just… I need something to take my mind off of the past.” He admitted, voice quiet. “I never used to think too much on these things… ‘What will be, will be’, you know? And… and, then…”

“You lost someone.”

“Kind of… It’s complicated. It’s not as if he’s dead, just… Not around.” Ardbert’s gaze shifted to the image of G’raha, and Cy’rill swallowed. _Sharp as ever._ “Let’s just… leave it. I can’t change the past, can I?”

“Aye. Believe me, I’ve tried. All you can do is work for the future. Don’t… Don’t end up like me, Cy’rill – some wandering spirit, unable to come to terms with his past. It really eats away at you.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, letting the company of the other wash over them. Despite their disagreements, at that moment, they were understanding one another. They weren’t two warriors; merely, two people who had suffered, and needed support. The miqo’te calmed himself, finally meeting eyes with the hyur.

“I think we’ve both had enough of being dreary.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. The other man seemed to appreciate the sentiment, letting out a huff of his own.

“You’re right. I think we could do with a break from that. No good being miserable, eh?” Cy’rill nodded, his hand moving to the board and turning it over, the blank side facing them. The identity of the Exarch could wait. One day, he would find the truth, but, for now, he needed support, and so did his friend. “Cy’rill?”

“Mh?”

“If… If you don’t wish to speak on him, then I won’t make you. However, if you want to talk about him, relive those good memories… I’ll listen.” It was an odd offer of comfort – the other man was willing to walk him through his memories, to bring back the pleasant feeling he’d had. The Keeper let out a soft laugh, moving to the window, and sitting on the frame, legs crossed at the shins.

“I… I’m not ready to go into detail, but… Well, G’raha was a good man. A cheeky little shit, but a good man.”

“Best way to be, really. Gotta keep things entertaining, right?”

“I suppose. Twelve, I remember meeting him, properly, for the first time. He was incredibly dramatic, and prided himself on his knowledge of history. Every night, we would sit by the fire, and I would ask him to recount a tale for me. I’ve never met someone so delighted in telling stories…” Cy’rill’s gaze flicked up to the ceiling, as he recalled his past, the fondest of smiles on his lips. “He was a historian and a bard, so you can imagine what it was like. The tales were long, and he’d get so caught up, that he’d go off on a tangent… but, I listened. Seeing how passionate he was… It was such a joy to hear from him.”

“You speak fondly of him. Were you…? No, sorry, I shouldn’t pry-“

“I wish. We never established a relationship. I wanted to, but, then…” He stalled, mouth open as he tried to find the words, before shaking his head, batting away the bubble of melancholy in his chest. “We did share some… _intimate moments._ You know, you get comfortable enough with someone, teasing becomes flirting… You get the idea. It just… didn’t happen. Before I could ask for things to be serious, he was gone.”

“Gods, I’m sorry, Cy’rill…”

“No, no. It wasn’t like that. He just had… responsibilities, and I had mine. I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.” A moment of silence passed between them, the hyur taking in Cy’rill’s words. He sucked a breath in through his teeth, despite not needing it.

“You still love him, don’t you?” The words sat like lead in his chest. Did he? It had been five years, and he hadn’t even gotten to speak the words to the historian. By all accounts, he should have moved on – sure, he’d had his flings, and intimacy with others, but it had never been the same. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, before facing Ardbert, eyes aflame with seriousness.

“Yes, I do. I love him, dearly.” The other male blinked at the genuineness of his confession, before shaking his head, a smile on his face.

“Then, you’d better return to him in one piece, Warrior of Darkness.”

***

That was, in all certainty, _not_ what he’d been expecting to hear. No, he’d expected Cy’rill to, perhaps, be eating dinner, or fixing some armour. Instead, he seemed to be talking to himself, in explicit detail. Admittedly, he’d eavesdropped, and he knew he shouldn’t have. It had started with guessing the identity of the Exarch, and said man couldn’t help but listen, just outside the warrior’s door, amused. He did enjoy a little mystery, didn’t he? Part of him wished to know what the raven’s theory was – not to laugh at his expense, but just to see how his inspiration connected a puzzle.

Then, the topic had moved onto G’raha Tia. Oh, how his heart had wanted to burst, hearing the memories recalled; memories that he had, also, held onto. How could he forget the way the Keeper looked at him, and asked him to regale him with the Allagan tales? How could he forget the sweet, beautiful laugh that escaped the raven’s lips, when he’d told a joke? How could he forget the warm night in Mor Dhona, just beneath the glow of the Crystal Tower, when kisses became so much more? In centuries, not once had those memories left him.

He wasn’t aware of the tears, running down his cold cheeks. He couldn’t be selfish, not with his intentions. This was not what he’d wanted. He’d hoped Cy’rill had moved on, and forgotten – that it had remained a fling and nothing more, that his feelings for the other man were not returned, and yet… Twelve smite him, this was _cruel_.

Although it concerned him that the miqo’te was talking to himself, that wasn’t his priority. At that moment, it was taking every ounce of his power to not burst the door down, let his cowl fall, and collapse to his knees, begging for forgiveness; Forgiveness for leaving the other behind, for not letting his feelings be known, for holding his inspiration hostage with his feelings, for _years_. If he were to bend to his own, selfish desires, he would. Yet, duty came first. Duty _always_ came first.

He resisted the urge to display his anger, opting to push it down, deep in the recesses of his chest. He wasn’t G’raha Tia anymore – He was the Crystal Exarch, and he had to act like it. He had to keep up his aloof, mysterious persona, an ally to the Warrior of Darkness, whilst keeping him at arm’s length. If he drew any closer, let himself delve into old feelings… it would be over. He couldn’t put his warrior through the pain of losing his love _twice_. Once was too much.

“Oh, my warrior… I owe you apologies deeper than I can ever say…” The words left his lips, barely audible, despite how close to the apartment door he was. His emotions burnt, ashes of his love clouding his mind, lighting the thin fabric that was his self-restraint. Here he was, falling apart at the seams, for the one man he disappointed. “My inspiration… If only I could tell you…”

He moved away from the door, withdrawing himself from the situation. He couldn’t tell Cy’rill the truth, no matter how much it scorched his very soul. This way, he was protecting the man he cared for. His hands clenched to fists. He had to be strong, now. Collecting himself, he turned to face the door again, lightly knocking. Right now, the Crystal Exarch was checking up on the Warrior of Darkness, nothing more.

Even if his own heart bled for the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fanfic in so long, and I hope this is a good exercise in getting back into it. I might extend this to be part of a longer series, but time will tell. 
> 
> I hope this was enjoyable, even if it was a small one shot, that was supposed to be funny, and just turned into angst (oops)


End file.
